Absolute Sunset (7 page)

Sabina—I Don’t Want You

Sabina thought she wouldn’t be afraid. Hanka had been born so long before. So many years had passed. The memory of the pain should have faded away by now. But everything returned, all the memories that no mother would recall willingly. Memories of a labor ward filled with blood. Of screaming midwives, their hands stuck into Sabina’s body almost up to the elbows. Of the doctor practically jumping on her belly.

“Push!” he’d screamed back then. He had stunk of garlic, and he squeezed the baby out of her like dry toothpaste from a tube. Her torn skin cracked painfully. “Damn it, that’s long, I’ll need to close that!”

The labor itself wasn’t the only thing that went wrong with Hanka. While she was pregnant, Sabina had been happy. She’d felt all right. Confident. Important. She’d liked the constant attention people paid to her well-being, the compliments, Janusz’s admiration, and the fact that he agreed to everything. He indulged her every single whim.

Months passed quickly. Sabina had prepared to be a mum—she would walk with the expensive baby carriage that they had luckily managed to buy, with Hanka dressed in a yellow dress, sleeping inside like a cherub on a cloud. And Sabina herself, a proud young woman in short heels. With her hair in a neat bun. With tasteful short nails. Also in dress, a modest one, but emphasizing that even right after the pregnancy she already had her figure back. She would spend time strolling around, chatting with her neighbours, greeting the elderly. “What a lovely little girl!”—smiling at them—“As pretty as her mother”—thanking them for their kind words.

But Hanka—she’d never wanted to close her eyes, not for a fleeting moment. As if the fresh air annoyed her. She would cry loudly, despite always being carried, spending all her time hanging on Sabina’s neck. Caterwauling. Colicky. Vomiting. All Sabina’s clothes stank of puke. Or of scrambled-egg-colored baby poop. Even her hair absorbed the awful odor.

She hadn’t slept a wink during this period. It was simply impossible to get any rest with Hanka around. This wasn’t at all the way she’d imagined it. Instead of walking lazily around the estate, Sabina had spent her time trying to satisfy her daughter’s needs somehow. But the baby wouldn’t stop crying. Finally Sabina had given up. She decided to let Hanka howl. She had to shut up eventually. Sabina had spent whole days sitting at the table, just staring at its surface. She had said nothing—she’d had no desire to talk. She hadn’t eaten or drunk. She hadn’t been in the mood for anything.

Now, as Sabina waited between contractions, she decided that she would never give birth to another child, including this one. Nobody and nothing would convince her. “Hanka number two” was out of question. If the doctors wanted to, they could take the baby out by force—she wasn’t going to raise a finger to help them. She would get in the way if she could. Oh yes! If she could push, she could refuse to push. That was it! But her body wanted to get rid of the child. It arched and stretched. It pushed. Sabina was barely able to slow it down. She felt like nothing but a puppet, with someone else pulling her strings, so the labor went ahead despite her.

Finally a nurse showed up. She had a stern face and a thick moustache. She made a thudding noise with her heavy clogs.

“We’re going into labor!” she announced, uninterested. “We’re getting up!” she ordered, then waited, stamping her feet like a character from a cartoon. Sabina felt like slapping the woman across the face.

But she dragged herself out of bed and went to the labor ward, nearly crawling on her knees. A few women were there already. One was screaming, another one puffing. Sabina didn’t really care. Every woman goes through the same thing. There was nothing to look at. The room resembled a hairdresser’s—a row of chairs, woman after woman. Each one of them was there for the same reason.

Sabina had barely made it onto the chair when the contractions began. The midwife leaped up at her and, without warning, lifted up the skimpy pyjamas that Sabina was required to wear in the ward—as if she were looking under the lid of a pot. She roughly stabbed Sabina with her finger.

“Don’t push, you’re not dilated enough yet,” she growled, smacking Sabina on the knee, then dashing to the next patient.
Slut.

Don’t push? Sabina wasn’t pushing! That midwife should try this herself! Sabina fought hard against the contractions. She counted sheep, tiles, stains on the ceiling. But she was in pain. And pain is a terrible thing. Her head was spinning. How long was this going to last? How much time had she spent here already?

A trainee approached her. She was young and delicate, looking to Sabina like a geisha in a white kimono. Her small face twisted in an apologetic smile. She examined Sabina, peeking cautiously between her legs.

“You may push now, madam!” she whispered politely. She looked like she was going to bow. Sabina was irritated. She felt another contraction.

“I’ll fucking kill my husband!” she hissed straight into the young midwife’s ear, having grabbed her by the overalls.

“Please, calm down.” The girl might be delicate, but she was well prepared. She put her hand on Sabina’s forehead and pushed her back. “We’re pushing, Mrs. Sabina!”

And so Sabina tried. Tried to stop it somehow. Perhaps he wouldn’t be born? Perhaps he would disappear somewhere? Could he be absorbed, like a gelatinous cyst? No way. Two more contractions and she delivered a son. Quickly and efficiently. As every decent patient should do, without a big performance and without calling the doctor. Good Sabina.

“It’s a boy!” the nurse assisting her said with joy, momentarily walking away to wash the child and wrap him up. Sabina hoped she would drop him. He would fall and hit the edge of the sink with his head. And he would die. Or maybe he would drown. It wouldn’t last long—one choke would be enough. Or maybe something else would happen? The kid’s scream was ear-splitting. Perhaps it meant that he was ill and would die soon? But the midwife came back, carrying a small bundle.

“He has ten points on the Apgar scale, and huge lungs!” She laughed and passed the child to Sabina.

The baby’s face, as blue as a very rare steak, emerged from within the blanket. Exactly! It looked like a beef cutlet, with a flat nose and a junkie’s puffy, half-closed eyes. Tight fists. Open, toothless mouth. Sabina could swear the boy has a black palate, like a mad dog. He was crying like crazy. A crazy grub. He squirmed and kicked off the blanket.

“I don’t want him!” Sabina raised her hands in defensive gesture. “I don’t want—no, no, no!”

She was injected with morphine. And something to calm her. She was half awake, half asleep. The baby howled persistently somewhere in the distance. As if he knew that his mother didn’t want him. He was desperate. He screamed differently than other newborn babies. He didn’t want to be fed. He wanted her, Sabina. She felt beset. He wouldn’t let it go. From time to time the nurses came by and tried to convince her: “Take him!”

Sometimes they asked and sometimes they threatened her. Sabina didn’t give a shit about them.

They were smacking their lips and shaking their heads. What kind of a mother was she? What kind of woman? Sabina didn’t really care. He would stop howling eventually. He would shut up. It would be quiet. Finally.

Janusz—Keep The Child Safe

When Janusz came home late in the afternoon, he found Hanka so excited he could barely get her to talk.

“Mom went to the hospital. To give birth to the baby,” his daughter said. And that’s all she said. He shrugged. It was common for Hanka to react this way to strong emotions—talking to her made no sense in that moment.

It was already too late to visit Sabina. Janusz tried to tidy up the flat, then went to Agata’s parents’ to ask them if they could take care of Hanka while he was out. He packed a few things for his wife. Mrs. Ram dropped by with a jar of the broth for her neighbour in labor. Everyone knew that broth is the best cure for weakness. Later Janusz cleaned the bathtub. Then he took a bath. He had no idea what else he should do. He went out to the balcony for a moment. He dropped in to Hanka’s room. She was snoring quietly. He lay down as well and immediately fell asleep.

He reached the hospital at exactly six the following morning. Excitement replaced yesterday’s hesitation when the nurse on call gave him a thrilling message.

“It’s a boy!” She said, grinning.

Janusz squeezed the bouquet of carnations he’d bought on the way to the hospital. Their scent reminded him of cinnamon. Their stiff stems were straight and the blooms seemed to look around curiously. It’s always a good choice, a carnation. It wouldn’t die quickly in the stuffiness of the hospital. And it’s easy on the eye.

He knocked gently at the door of the room. He felt a bit like an intruder here, in the centre of a woman’s world. He was entering their area, their consecrated territory. On one hand he was curious about it, on the other—afraid. He ran his hand through his hair and knocked again. He entered, without waiting for a response. Sink or swim.

Sabina was lying right by the window. Alone. And she wasn’t moving. There were no other patients and no child.

“Good morning,” Janusz said cautiously and kissed his wife on the forehead. Sabina was pale and indifferent. She was sleeping deeply. She must have been exhausted. No wonder—labor is tough.

Janusz put the carnations on the shelf. He took the greasy jar with the broth out of the bag. Ribbons of pasta floated inside, looking like nematodes. Yuck! He hid the food in the cupboard. He couldn’t bear to look at it or smell it. He fluffed Sabina’s pillow. She opened her eyes.

“Hi,” she mumbled in response.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well...”

“Where’s the baby?”

“In the neonatal ward. A nurse took him.”

“Should I bring him here?”

“No!”

Janusz straightened.

“What?” He felt like shouting, but held back. “Is he being treated for something?” he asked calmly.

“No. Janusz...” Sabina sat up. “We need to talk.”

Janusz bristled like a dog sensing a threat. He wiped sweating hands on his trousers and sat down on a stool that stood by the wall.
We need to talk
usually didn’t mean anything good.

“So, I’m listening,” he said, although all he really wanted was to run away.

“Janusz, I... I don’t want him. Let’s give him away. Let’s leave him here,” Sabina started.

“What!” Janusz thought he had misheard. “What!”

“I’ve already talked to the nurses,” Sabina continued in a monotonous tone. “We’ll sign documents. He’ll stay here. Somebody will take him. There’s a demand for small children. And I don’t want him.”

“And what about me!” Janusz jumped to his feet. “I have a fucking right to decide, too!” he roared. The crying of children, awakened on the other side of the wall, answered him, along with the complaints of their mothers.

“Janusz, calm down. It’ll be better this way,” Sabina grabbed him by the thigh, but Janusz broke free and started pacing around the room.

“It won’t be any better! I don’t agree!”

“Ok, but you’ll be the one to take care of him!” Sabina began to yell as well. “I’m not going to do that! Hanka is enough for me, and what’s more we don’t have the money! Thank God my parents left us the apartment, at least. Otherwise we’d be living in a shelter! I can’t stand it anymore! Do you understand? I don’t want this kid! Get it, you stud? I’m not going to wear myself out over the next little snot!”

“You...” Janusz began, his fists clenched. It took a lot of effort to control himself. “I’m going now to see the boy. You pull yourself together. I won’t give him back. If you give him back, get the fuck out of my life. You can even keep your shitty flat, the musty fucking burrow!” Janusz slammed the door and left.

He found the newborns in the next room. He opened the door and examined the cribs, puzzled. All the children looked the same. Janusz was truly stumped. Then he noticed a nurse in one corner of the room. She was holding an exceptionally small baby in her arms.

“Good morning,” he said. “Janusz Borowski. I came to see my son.”

The nurse gave him a glance. As she approached him, she rocked the child unconsciously. It seemed to him that all women did this. Sometimes hummed as they went.

“This is your son,” she said and put the baby in his arms.

Janusz hesitated, but eventually hugged the boy to him. His hands felt stiff. He clenched his fingers around his son’s fragile body. Too firmly. The child felt it and opened his eyes. Dark blue, like cornflowers after a storm.

“Hi,” Janusz whispered, and he began to cry.

By the time he returned to Sabina he’d already made up his mind.

“I won’t give him back,” he declared, standing in the doorway. “I support you, I make a living, I earn as much as I can. You have everything you need. We have enough to share it with Bartek,” he concluded, emphasizing that the boy already had a name. Like every other family member. He wouldn’t be referred to as “him” anymore—his name was Bartek.

“But...” Sabina tried to defend herself somehow. But she gave up when she saw the look on her husband’s face. Janusz was proud of himself. To blast Sabina with a single glance—that wasn’t easy.